"To-night!" said Bellew, "to-night!" and he stood, for a while with bent head, as though lost in profound thought. "Adam," said he, suddenly, "help me to harness the mare, I must drive over to the nearest rail-road depot,—hurry, I must be off, the sooner, the better."
"What!—be you—goin' sir?"
"Yes;—hurry, man,—hurry!"
"D'ye mean as you're a-goin' to leave her—now, in the middle o' all this trouble?"
"Yes, Adam,—I must go to London—on business,—now hurry, like a good fellow." And so, together they entered the stable, and together they harnessed the mare. Which done, staying not for breakfast, Bellew mounted the driver's seat, and, with Adam beside him, drove rapidly away.
But Small Porges had seen these preparations, and now came running all eagerness, but ere he could reach the yard, Bellew was out of ear-shot.
So there stood Small Porges, a desolate little figure, watching the rapid course of the dogcart until it had vanished over the brow of the hill. And then, all at once the tears welled up into his eyes hot, and scalding, and a great sob burst from him, for it seemed to him that his beloved Uncle Porges had failed him at the crucial moment,—had left him solitary just when he needed him most.
Thus Small Porges gave way to his grief, hidden in the very darkest corner of the stable, whither he had retired lest any should observe his weakness, until having once more gained command of himself, and wiped away his tears with his small, and dingy pocket-handkerchief, he slowly re-crossed the yard, and entering the house went to look for his Auntie Anthea.
And, after much search, he found her—half-lying, half-kneeling beside his bed. When he spoke to her, though she answered him, she did not look up, and he knew that she was weeping.
"Don't, Auntie Anthea,—don't!" he pleaded. "I know Uncle Porges has gone away, an' left us, but you've got me left, you know,—an' I shall be a man—very soon,—before my time, I think. So—don't cry,—though I'm awful' sorry he's gone, too—just when we needed him the most, you know!"